


starving faithful

by theglitterati



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Pining Otabek Altin, Touch-Starved, character study if you squint lol, slightly obsessive behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23616997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: Otabek can’t remember the last time someone touched him so much.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 10
Kudos: 128





	starving faithful

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Take Me To Church.

Otabek notices it for the first time in Barcelona, when Yuri climbs on the back of his motorcycle and rests his hands on Otabek’s hips to keep steady. Something inside Otabek cracks at Yuri’s touch, making his breath catch. It happens again, when they shake hands in Park Güell and he finds himself wishing he wasn’t wearing gloves, then again on the ice, Yuri’s cold hand pressed to his lips. He’s on fire by the time Yuri hugs him goodbye at the hotel, promising to visit soon.

Otabek can’t remember the last time someone touched him so much.

***

He takes stock on the plane home. His family is loving, and kind, but they’re not very physically affectionate, especially now that he’s an adult. There’s an occasional hug from his grandparents, a handshake from his father. A kiss on the cheek from his mother that lands mostly in the air. His friends are the same: too cool for touchy-feely stuff, they prefer fist bumps and the ‘sup’ nods guys love to exchange. With a shock, Otabek realizes the most physical contact he’s had in years has been from playing with the family dog.

He’s Kazakhstan’s hero, and he’s been wearing his armour for far too long.

The lack of touch never bothered him before, but back in his lonely apartment after the Grand Prix Final, it’s all he can think about. He needs it like a fix, the feeling of someone else’s hands on him, the warm press of skin against skin. Not from just anyone, though. It becomes increasingly obvious in the passing weeks, as he idly touches his lips, remembering the exhibition skate, as he slips a hand inside his underwear and imagines it smaller, and pale, that he only wants the touch of one person: Yuri Plisetsky. 

So Otabek texts, he Skypes, he lets himself be bullied in downloading Snapchat; anything to talk to him. Luckily, Yuri isn’t shy. He complains about his coach and his rinkmates and everyone else he knows, and all Otabek has to do is listen. He sends pictures of himself in vertical splits and asks how he looks, and it’s easy to drop hints about how perfect Otabek thinks he is. And when Yuri yells into the phone that he’s sick of ballet and training and winter, it’s natural for Otabek to invite him to visit Almaty for a weekend. They make plans for him to come in three weeks.

Otabek wonders, in the intervening time, if Yuri is thinking about touching him again. He wonders if Yuri ever feels lonely, too.

Probably not.

***

A week before the trip, things change. 

“I need to tell you something,” Yuri says over Skype.

“Okay.” Otabek tries to keep his face straight while he mentally pleads with Yuri not to cancel his visit.

Yuri chews his lip, not saying anything. He looks angry, but when does he not? “I fucking like you, okay?” he finally blurts out. “I didn’t know if I should say anything, and then I made the stupid mistake of asking Katsuki for advice, and he figured out I was talking about you, so now I’m telling you because he’ll probably get drunk and tweet it or something if I don’t. Asshole.” He frowns down at his bedsheets. “I don’t want to make things weird.”

Breathing is required for talking, and Otabek is having trouble doing either right now. “It’s not weird,” he manages to say. “I feel the same way about you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He had wondered if Yuri returned his feelings. Maybe even suspected; Yuri had been calling later and later at night, and losing clothes like autumn leaves in his pictures. He asked twice if Otabek had a second bedroom (he doesn’t, but there’s a couch, a fact that seemed to disappoint Yuri). But to think and to know that Yuri likes him back are two very different things.

Otabek spends the rest of the call tracking Yuri’s hands across the screen. When they hang up, he presses his own hands to his hips, like the passenger on a motorcycle. Then he lets them slip below his waistband.

Soon, he won’t have to use his own.

***

He picks Yuri up at the airport a week later. They take a taxi instead of his bike, since Yuri has a suitcase. They don’t touch in the terminal, or on the ride home. Yuri’s quieter than usual, looking out the windows, at his phone: everywhere but at Otabek. Otabek’s worried until he realizes he’s doing the same thing. Yuri must be as nervous as he is.

It’s no easier when they get home. Otabek gives Yuri a tour of his tiny apartment and makes them a frozen pizza for dinner, which they eat on the couch, three feet apart. He can’t even feel the couch move when Yuri shifts positions from this far away. He needs to be closer to him. He needs Yuri’s hands on him again. 

If he wasn’t so worked up about it, if he hadn’t made such a big deal of this in his head, he could just reach out and touch him. Put an arm around him, hold his hand. Stroke his hair. But he’s afraid if he starts, he won’t be able to stop.

Yuri gives him nothing to work with. He stares at the mindless sitcom on TV like there’s going to be a test. Otabek has no clue how to let him in.

When the idea finally hits him, it feels obvious.

“Do you want to go for a ride on my bike?” Otabek asks. “I can show you the city.”

Yuri perks up. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s dark when they leave. Otabek turns on the bike, and Yuri climbs on behind him, his hands falling back to Otabek’s waist. They’re still parked, and Yuri’s hands are just hovering, but the feeling is already overwhelming. Otabek snaps up the kickstand and starts to drive.

Barcelona had narrow streets, which made it hard to drive fast. Here, on the wide highways Otabek follows to the outskirts of the city, Yuri has to hold on tighter as the bike gains speed. His hands lock in front of Otabek’s stomach, his front flush against Otabek’s back. Otabek has to remind himself to breathe. He feels like a creep, feeling so much from a simple touch, until he remembers that Yuri wants him, too. Still, it’s a lot to take. At the next stoplight, he leans forward, resting his head on the handlebars.

“Are you okay?” Yuri asks. His hands don’t loosen an inch.

Otabek nods slowly, pulling himself back up. “I’m okay.”

But it’s a lie; by the time they get home, he’s all but burning. He grabs Yuri and kisses him the minute they walk in the door. It’s been a long time, but he still remembers how to do that, at least. Yuri kisses back eagerly, but his hands remain at his sides, as though he’s not sure what to do with them. Otabek guides his wrists to his chest and holds them there, palms against collarbones. Yuri takes the hint and slides his hands over Otabek’s shoulders, down his chest. It feels _so_ good. Otabek thinks he can feel the trails left by Yuri’s fingers, feel himself cracking open everywhere Yuri touches.

Yuri stops kissing him. “Otabek, you’re shaking.”

“I’m sorry,” Otabek says automatically.

“Are you okay?” Yuri asks. It’s the second time in ten minutes. God, Otabek must be a terrible date.

He wants to explain it, somehow, so Yuri will understand: he just likes him _so_ much, and when Yuri touches him, he feels like he might break wide open. But all that comes out when he opens his mouth is, “No one ever touches me.”

Yuri frowns. “Is it… good, what I’m doing? Does it feel good?”

Otabek nods. The world _please_ slips out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“Okay.” Yuri takes him by the hand and leads him into his own bedroom, leaving the lights off. Inside, he gently tugs at the hem of Otabek’s shirt until Otabek understands and pulls it over his head. “Lie down,” Yuri tells him. He knows he should be doing something, kissing Yuri, making him feel good, but it’s all he can do to just follow instructions. He lies back on the pillows and Yuri climbs on top of him, straddling his legs.

He presses his hands to Otabek’s stomach, palms flat, fingers splayed. Otabek shivers violently; it’s like his body is determined to make this as embarrassing as possible. Yuri tilts his head, confused by Otabek’s reaction. He has no idea the power he yields. 

He moves his hands, over Otabek’s sides, up his chest and back down his arms. His hands are small, quick. Otabek thinks ridiculously of the piano lessons he used to take. He would have killed for long, flexible fingers like Yuri’s. They ghost over his skin, taking Otabek apart piece by piece, splitting him open with every touch.

The light coming through the window above the bed illuminates Yuri’s face and leaves Otabek’s in darkness. It’s a small mercy that allows Otabek to hide both his reverence and his tears. The rest of his body is not so lucky: his chest heaves as he sucks in air, and he shakes even worse than before.

“Do you want me to stop?” Yuri asks.

He shakes his head vigorously. “Not yet. Please.” He keeps his eyes on Yuri, irrationally afraid that if he looks away, he’ll disappear.

Yuri keeps going until he’s able to calm down, then lies down next to him, one hand over Otabek’s racing heart. Otabek holds Yuri close and kisses him again. He feels suddenly self-conscious about what they’d just done, what he had needed. How much he had needed.

“I’m sorry,” he says, burying his face in Yuri’s shoulder. “I know I—”

“Shh. S’okay.” He pushes Otabek’s hair back from his face. When Otabek looks up, Yuri’s smiling. “Does this mean I don’t have to sleep on the stupid couch?”

Otabek laughs shakily. “Yeah, that was never going to happen.” He hugs Yuri tightly, until Yuri makes a soft _hmm_ noise against his chest.

Just the sound makes him want more, more, more. It’s not just his hands; Yuri’s voice, his smell, his presence is enough to disarm Otabek. He wants to throw up a white flag and surrender to Yuri completely.

“Can I touch you?” Otabek asks.

 _“Fuck yes,”_ Yuri says, and Otabek lets himself shatter.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at kyrstin.tumblr.com.
> 
> This is pretty different from what I normally write, so any thoughts (nice ones!) would be appreciated. (I'm not looking for criticism, even constructive, just opinions/reactions/feelings.)


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